Just a Simple Shower
by hippiechick2112
Summary: The comforts of home seem to have more meaning to them than he thought possible. The memories of a faraway place he recently left behind could not leave him just yet. After "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen".


**Just a Simple Shower**

**Note and Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own M*A*S*H and its characters and storylines (CBS and 20th Century Fox do). I just wrote this story, I swear, like all others. However, this, like most of the others, is a part of a series of one-shots for all of the main characters during or after the war ends, written in the first or third person. Enjoy!**

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><p>The night came soon enough – too soon for him really – reminiscing with his father done with and the twilight hours upon the two men. And now, bedtime was soon to beckon (if it could come, he was always thinking ever since he came home) and, with it, there came that somewhat dreaded action. He knew that he had to face it sometime – something that he had to get used to again without the benefit of friend or foe ever again – and that he had to do it alone, the same night he had returned home from the most hellish experience he could ever dream possible, from the most remote place he had ever heard of.<p>

The door was finally shut firmly behind him as if a new phase of his life was beginning and his old ending, the light was on and blinding him terribly. Wrapped only in a towel to cover the most indecent parts of his body to the public eye (parts he even shared with a nurse or two, sometimes dropping his pants in the Mess Tent), his dirty clothes in a corner (the green-caked uniform he so hated crumbled along with it), he assessed his surroundings: another habit he picked up while he was away.

Ok, so the linoleum floors felt cold to his now-bare feet, so used to wood and dirt and sometimes blood and dead bodies. Ok, so the materialistic comforts of home were now there with him in that bathroom – towels, a sink and even some magazines he had not seen in some time – and he had no complaints about it…although he had many of those in the time he was away, used to just a tent, a stall, sometimes no hot water and little privacy, men always looking down at you when you weren't looking twice, minus the friends who did not care.

And over there, standing before him, was nothing but a curtain and some mechanic devices that he can hardly seen – much less used really – in a few years: the last time he had seen civilization.

It had seemed too long since he had a decent shower and one that he didn't have to worry about patients that were wounded, dead or recovering, explosions in the outside world, the lack of hot water and even people behind him wanting the same right.

Oh, hell…just when he was used to the wooden stalls and the odd chains and pulleys that gave him the cleaning he so richly deserved. Just when he was used to being in a crummy place that made him long for the simplest things that he took advantage of…

The cold, tiled walls felt less than reassuring as he laid his head against it, remembering those recent memories – whitening black hair on his head, three years in the making – and a rare sigh came forth from his lips. No other words could suffice quite yet.

_Why does this have to be so hard?_ He had to wonder after a while, leaving his head there. _Why does this seem so difficult? It's just a silly little shower! I've had many of them before._

He lifted his head from the wall, looking to the dreaded device with some hope. Could he do it? Could he avoid looking to the left and to the right, remembering that his friends were not there to talk to? Could he keep in mind that he had all the time in the world, to wash and clean himself of everything, save for the images of war, destruction, death, hardship and heartache?

There were many more images too. There had been hope, love, wishful thinking (most of them about all of the personnel going home), pranks and even people coming back to life. He helped with a lot of that. Oh, he couldn't _but_ help himself with most of that, trying to stay sane in an insane place, but he knew that sometime, he had to crack under all of that pressure, the vices on the other side of the coin that would haunt him. And, towards the end, when he thought that he couldn't take it any longer, he pulled through and went on with life as if nothing had happened…

He shook his head. _No, back to this shower business. How hard could this be really?_

Turning his eyes towards his goal, trying to untie the knot off of the towel off and his feet moving over the bathtub's rim, he saw it again behind his eyes: Trapper, and then B.J., right next to him in a stall: washing, rinsing, complaining, moaning and even _in_ mourning about something or another. Missing, yearning, ranting and raving…it was all there still…

And a shower wasn't just going to be simple anymore, he found out. It had a lot more meaning to it than he thought possible, than he could even _hope_ of dreaming of. And no matter what he did, the memories will always be there.

Oh, he knew that water – and even that shower – meant a lot of things. It meant cleansing, washing, rinsing, a right to be singing while cleaning yourself…an _awakening_ almost.

He knew, most of all, it also meant _life_ and sometimes even _death_.

But what was life anymore without the same routine you've had for the past three years, with the same people you've grown to love and loathe?

_The simplest things…but the simplest things…_

There was no point anymore. He had to move on with his life and make the simplest things seem less than what he's making them out to be. He had to forget all that he had seen, all he had heard, all that he had _touched_…

A head shakes seemed to be enough, to get him back to his senses. It was all that was needed.

Finally dropping the towel to the floor and forgetting all for even the barest of moments, Hawkeye Pierce – friend, lover, surgeon and now, a living casualty of war – decided to forsake all forms of decency and jump into a shower, home again.


End file.
